The Mess I Made
by Cass-dawg
Summary: Wilson is happy with Sam, yet a late night phone call makes him question that. Is he really happy with Sam? Is she really who he wants to be with? Did he make up his mind too late?  Spoilers for S6 finale/S7 Premiere


This is my first Hilson fic and also my first story where I stick to one character narrating. So a lot of firsts in this fic! I got the idea from a song by The Parachutes called 'The Mess I Made'. I do not own the song, but I borrowed some of the lyrics that seemed to fit with the text. I should also point out that I don't own House M.D, any of its characters etc etc… *epic sad face*

The Mess I Made

Wilson's phone split unapologetically through the silence of the night.

Muttering and cursing, he reached for it, gripping it violently in retribution for jolting him awake.

Flipping it open, he answered, attempting to convey a sense of professionalism through his sleepy tone.

"Dr Wilson"

"Dr Wilson, its Foreman."

Wilson frowned. What on earth would Foreman be calling him about?

"Yes…?"

"I was just wondering whether you've heard from House?"

Ah.

Wilson sighed and cleared his throat. His mind became less sleep muddled and more curious.

"No, I haven't. Why? Should I have?"

"Well… as shocking as it may seem, I'm worried about him. The last time I saw him, he was limping heavily without his cane out of the Hospital on the night of the crane crash. That was 2 days ago. No one's heard from him since."

Wilson smirked. "Surely you of all people should know that he's probably milking the recuperation period for the staff that were on-site for as much as it's worth?"

"Yes… but you didn't see him as he was leaving. Wilson, he was at rock bottom. Even worse than at the end of last year! He was over it. The spark was gone. It was like he had nothing to live for anymore. He yelled at me, saying that he'd done everything right. He'd done what any doctor would have done. He did the right thing and it backfired on him."

Wilson mind started to go into panic mode when Foreman mentioned the end of last year. He would give anything or do anything to avoid seeing House like that ever again. Now Foreman was saying that he was _worse_ than that?

On top of the panic, he felt a deepening sense of guilt. He was house's best friend. He was supposed to be there helping him. He was supposed to be telling House that he did the right thing.

Instead, he had chosen Sam.

_But I don't have to babysit House!_ Wilson's mind argued.

Yet his compulsive, caring nature would not sit with it. God! He even kicked House out of the Condo that he'd bought for them. He had chosen his cheating Ex-wife, over his best friend that he had known for 20 years. The same friend who had helped him to cope when his relationship with Sam failed in the first place.

_You're an idiot!_ Wilson's mind screamed at him in a voice that sounded suspiciously like House's.

"Hello? Wilson!"

Wilson started. He'd forgotten that Foreman was still on the phone.

"Uhh… right, sorry. Um, I'll go see him, make sure he's alright. Thanks Foreman. I'll get back to you."

Without waiting for a reply, Wilson quickly ended the call and sat up.

Next to him, Sam stirred. Not looking at her straight away, Wilson contemplated his situation with new insight.

Turning slowly to Sam, he studied her. Normally, the sight of her would have brought a smile to his face. The old-flame rekindled by years of absence, had kept him warm and happy throughout the last couple of weeks. Now, it made his skin crawl, along with a bucket of ice through his stomach.

All he could think about now was how he had traded his best friend for a few weeks of happiness. As much as he hated to admit it, House was right about Sam all along. Their time together had been great, but Wilson was just past the 'love-sick haze' as House liked to call it, and was now at the stage where he noticed Sam's faults too. There were a lot of them.

He had let the little things slide, like how she put the milk in the wrong part of the fridge, or how she couldn't manage to stack the dish washer properly, or clean up the Condo at all, despite practically living in it now.

These things he may have been able to handle. Yet, as he thought about it, these were not the only things that bugged him. She was rude, she was obnoxious, and she took advantage of Wilson's compulsiveness to clean and to pay for things.

Sure, Amber was pushy, but she did it for the right reasons. Even House wouldn't dispute that. She had been forceful with Wilson to show him that he could do things for himself and not have to worry about her.

Sam wasn't like that. She did things to gain her own benefits and for selfish, vain reasons.

What Wilson realised that she was most accountable for, was her unending stream of criticism and bitter commentary about House.

Wilson sometimes complained about House and his various nefarious deeds, but he had nothing on her level of unwarranted animosity towards House.

No. That was _one thing_ that Wilson could not take. House was more important to Wilson than anything else.

For the second time in 2 minutes, Wilson was snapped out of his thoughts.

"James!" Sam called, her voice raised slightly to get his attention.

Wilson blinked, still staring at her, contemplating. Seeing that he was focused, Sam smiled and curled up closer to him.

"Did your phone just ring or was that a dream?"

"It rang. It was…"

"Oh My God!" Sam huffed, cutting him off brusquely. "What the hell was that bastard calling for now?"

Wilson looked at her, his eyes wide in shock.

"As a matter of fact, it was Foreman. He was calling to tell me that no one has heard from House and that he was worried" Wilson bit back testily.

"Oh. Why are they worried? It's good that no one's heard from him. With any luck, he's drowned himself in a bottle of jack and passed out in a pile of his own worthless vomit," she said carelessly, stifling a yawn.

Maybe it was the carelessness, maybe it was what she had said, how she phrased it, how she took so much pleasure in House being miserable. Whatever it was, it was the limit. The last straw. The END.

Something in Wilson's mind snapped. He had had enough. A small pit of rage started in his mind, swelling and smarting, spreading out through his veins and into his heart. The flame grew and grew. Wilson's eyes flashed dangerously, his jaw working furiously as he tried to control his anger.

Sam had noticed he'd gone quiet. Glancing up at him, she flinched sharply and backed away from him, slightly scared by the man that sat next to her.

Sam had seen many of Wilson's emotions in both of their times together. Despite knowing when he was annoyed at something or fed up, she had never seen him angry. She didn't think he had a dark side.

From her own experiences, she knew various levels of anger. There was mild anger, causing disturbance subtly with a well chosen retort to leave someone squirming. There was harsher anger, one which wasn't subtle and caused a lot more damage. One step up was Rage- the fiercest, White-hot anger that brought uncontrollable levels of yelling and violence, causing the other person hell.

Yet one glance at Wilson, told her that her previous idea of anger being fire-fuelled was wrong. Wilson was beyond furious. He had hit astronomical levels of fury. He had surpassed Fire and hit a whole new level she didn't think was possible to hit.

Wilson had frozen completely. No muscle moved or twitched, his usual warm, chocolate brown eyes had turned solid coal black, staring right into her. The change from Wilson's usual gentle nature was like a slap in the face.

Wilson just sat motionless, staring at her for several moments, then he spoke with a tone so bitter and cold, her body stilled and she instantly felt a shiver run down her spine.

"Do not ever speak of House in that way again. He has been through more than you'll ever know."

Sam was unable to move. Weighed down by Wilson's stare, all she could do was sit in mute horror.

Without looking back, Wilson stood up silently, grabbed his phone, keys and a handful of clothes and left the room, leaving a shell-shocked Sam still trying to comprehend what had happened.

Wilson left the Condo and got into his car, planning on going to see House. Slamming his door, he tried to put the keys in the ignition, but he couldn't. His hands were shaking violently.

Breathing deeply, Wilson closed his eyes. He had never felt Rage like that before. He wasn't sure he wanted to ever again.

It was over between him and Sam. He knew that for sure. There was no way that it would have worked out long term – like before. There was no way he wanted to go back to her.

Wilson couldn't help feeling free. His heart was free to give it to who he wanted. He wasn't going to be a dabbler, A Don Juan. He knew who he wanted to be with, once and for all.

Starting the car, Wilson hurriedly pulled out and sped towards House's apartment, thankful for the empty roads.

In no time, Wilson found himself in Baker St, pulled up in front of 221B. He had planned what he was going to say to House during the drive. Knocking on the door, he continued to edit and rehearse what he was going to say.

After knocking twice, Wilson heard the lock on the other side of the door being unfastened.

Wilson could hear House grumbling expletives as he unlocked the door. His gravelly voice was deepened and thickened with sleep.

"Whoever you are, you better have a damn good reason for waking me up at this… Oh."

Wilson watched, slightly nervously as House's ramble cut off when he saw him.

House stood in the door way, saying nothing and waiting for him to speak.

But he couldn't make a sound.

He had expected to find House with at least 3 days extra growth on his face, a sickly stench of stale sweat, vomit and alcohol and sunken tired eyes. Like every other time House had been depressed.

Instead, house looked… happy. Well, as happy as someone who had been woken up in the middle of the night could look. For that, he was annoyed, but there was something else too. Wilson thought he saw contentment...

Wilson couldn't take his eyes of him, his mind still several steps behind.

House smirked. "Wilson, as much as I appreciate your competitiveness, I really don't think this is the time for a staring contest…"

Wilson blinked and shook his head. House was smiling now.

"You lose anyway – you just blinked"

Wilson couldn't help the smile that grew at House's game.

"I came here to tell you that I broke up with Sam." The words rushed out of Wilson in one long stream.

House frowned. "Now? Gee you really know how to cut deep! Wake them up in the middle of the night and tell them you're breaking up, _then_ leave them on their own?"

Wilson opened his mouth to explain, but House got his epiphany look and cut him off before he could say anything.

"Wait… _you_ broke up with Sam! Not the other way around? What the hell happened?"

Wilson sighed. "Foreman called me about half an hour ago, telling me that he was worried about you. No one's heard from you. What's been going on House? Foreman said you'd hit rock bottom!"

House looked away uncomfortably. "Why should you care what I've been doing? You kicked me out of the Condo to be with Sam. So you broke up, boo hoo. What? _Now_ you want to be my friend again?"

House spoke with a look of hurt that made Wilson want to hug him, to apologise repeatedly, to do whatever he had to, to take away the pain. Yet, he knew that this time, he had caused it and he may not be able to make up for it.

"House… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I can't believe I did that. I'm not here to ask you to come back. That would be callous. I… I was just so worried when Foreman called. He said you were worse than you were at the end of last year. I didn't want you to be alone any longer, once I knew that" Wilson stated, shuddering at the memory.

House's bright blue eyes seared into his, and a dark look came into his eyes as he focused on a memory.

"It was bad Wilson. I wasn't sure I would be able to resist the Vicodin this time."

Wilson bit his tongue, not wanting to cut House off, yet wanting to find out how he gotten Vicodin.

"It was like Déjà vu. I was sitting in my bathroom. Just like in the hallucination. I had the pills in my hand and I was just about to take them."

House stopped talking. The dark look vanished and he smiled. It wasn't a smirk, nor was it the mocking smile that he gave when he was being a smart ass. It wasn't the one that he had when they were together, laughing and joking about the world. It was a true, heart-felt smile. Small, but it was there.

Wilson felt his heart leap at the sight of it. "But…" He urged House, wanting to hear what happened next.

"But then Cuddy came"

Wilson felt as though he just got socked in the stomach, kicked in the groin, and had a baseball bat cracked over his head at the same time.

He felt his mouth drop open and his breathing becoming harsher, hitching. He couldn't draw in a full breath. Something was tightening around his chest. His throat clenched immediately and his eyes started prickling.

He lowered his gaze from House, and was afraid to look up. House couldn't see him like this. He couldn't know.

Closing his eyes, Wilson felt as though his world was collapsing around him. He finally knew how House had felt. He had discovered all too late, what was going on through House's head, each time he told him he was dating someone new.

Wilson knew that House and Cuddy had been dancing around each other for many years. He had even encouraged them. Yet throughout the last year, he was sure they were over. Cuddy had moved on and house was with him.

Cruelly, everything was in reverse now, and Wilson was stuck alone.

Wilson suddenly stopped caring. He looked up at House. His tear-filled eyes met House's concerned gaze.

"I'm happy for you buddy. I truly am. I'm just sorry I wasn't here to help you…" Wilson stopped, not daring to go on in case his voice cracked.

House had not broken eye contact with Wilson since he mentioned Cuddy, watching the look of despair appear across his friend's face. Wilson had felt their force even when he wasn't looking, and now as he looked back up, he saw House's eyes were wet too.

Wilson stared back, staring at the mess he'd made. He should've reached out to House when he had the chance. He should have turned around and called out. He should've kissed him then, held him. Told him he loved him.

If only Wilson had held his ground, steeled his mind, house would have stayed. He had had too many second chances but now House had taken his heart and walked away.

House stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Wilson, enveloping him in a bear hug. It wasn't rough, it wasn't tender. It was the kind of hug House would give. He knew what was going on in Wilson's mind. It was an 'I told you so' hug.

Wilson didn't want it to end. He wanted to stay that way forever, wrapped in House's arms. He breathed in, trying to remember the sensation as best he could but all too soon, he felt House un-wrapping his arms and stepping back.

Wilson wasn't sure what he was going to do now. He didn't want to go home to the Condo. It wasn't home anymore. It was just a reminder.

House seemed to understand Wilson's silent dilemma. Stepping away from the door, he asked softly "Want a beer?"

Wilson nodded mutely and stepped inside, avoiding brushing against House. Hopefully he could drink enough to forget for the rest of the night. It wouldn't be enough though. He would have to go home eventually. Back to the place he had bought for them. Back to the place he had driven House from. Back to the place that was once home.

Back to the mess he'd made.


End file.
